Ophelio
by FleetingKisses
Summary: What was the game? Bro hardly remembered. But he did remember he had a brother; a brother in his life no longer. Did he even exist in the first place…?
1. Chapter 1

His eyes opened slowly. Sunlight filtered through the blinds on the window, creating horizontal bars of alternating light and shadow on the floor and furniture. It was, what, 9 am? The sky looked so crisp today, with only but a few fat white clouds. And the sun, big and bright. Bro lifted his arm and covered his eyes.

He was almost considering going back to sleep when he heard the front door close. In less than a second, he jumped up. His heart beat fast and he leapt out of bed. Turning the latch to unlock the door, he looked left and right. He looked down the hall, moved to the stairwell and looked down that as well.

His mouth opened to call out but no words left his mouth. No, rather, his shoulders slumped and he glanced out the hallway window. He squinted in the sun, watching a seagull or two glide by.

When he returned inside, he locked the deadbolt and that's when the thought struck him: he heard the door close, but he didn't hear the lock after it. He stood there in the small hall leading into his flat, thinking and wondering…

Breakfast rolled by: he cut out a circle from the centre of a slice of bread and threw that on a skillet. Cracking an egg, he threw that into the hole in the slice of bread. He sipped some tart apple juice while he waited for it to finish frying, flipping it after some minutes.

Time passed, time slipped away, and Bro found himself sitting at the peninsula countertop, staring down at a plate of egg sandwich, orange slices, and a glass of apple juice. He didn't feel hungry anymore, but he ate regardless - couldn't miss another breakfast.

Why has he skipped out on eating in the morning recently, any ways? He normally ate as part of his routine, sometimes he felt hunger, but mostly it was habit, or obligation. Maybe he just missed…no, he tried to stop thinking about it - it was always hard for him to stop thinking.

The cleared plate and the empty glass sat in the sink as he headed out. It was high noon when he stumbled over the small front step - he quickly looked around and no one was around to see, thankfully. He adjusted himself and kept walking. Heading out had become another one of his habits, though it was more sporadic. He would march down the stairs, zip out the door, and walk to seemingly nowhere. He lifted his hat to adjust his hair as he waited for the crosswalk sign to change. He had light, feathery hair - it was as golden as the sun, which was dimmed behind his gaudy shades. Many people would look at him, and rarely did anyone meet his gaze when he would look back.

He found himself passing by a school. This one school, the same school, just a different day and direction of walking. He tried not to look at the students meandering about the grounds. He would stare at the ground as usual. Every so often though, a voice would call out and Bro looked fast.

But it wasn't him. It wasn't his little man.

Bro returned home sometime after 2. He came in and sat down, letting out a long breath. That's what he thought of it; he didn't want to think of it as a sigh. Was it a sigh? Well, if you want to get technical, it could be seen as one. Maybe to the outside observer, but…he stopped himself again. He stopped himself from rambling to himself so the apartment would seem less empty.

He didn't even feel sorry for himself, he just thought it was dumb of him. Tonight he would go out, he decided, and he hopped up again.

.

.

The bass was hard and he could feel it whenever his feet were on the ground. The people around him were but flashes in the dark and cigarette smoke lingering in the flicking lights, as inconstant as the patrons dancing. He too, was dancing. Heck, he wasn't even half bad! He thought so, any ways. Sure his moves were a little stiff, but he was here to have a good time like everyone else, right?

He slowed as a lady came up to him. She was at least five years younger than him, but she didn't seem to care. And the music just kept on. Her hips moved with his, her back against his chest, her arms around his neck. He was a tall fellow, so he hunched forward a little around her. And he danced.

He found himself moved to the bathroom - a mural of spraypaint, knife carving, sharpie ink, and dents. It was a fantastic mess of grime and dirt. Bro gasped as the girl's hands squeezed him here, there, and below. His head was swimming and the music was muffled in this cement room. She popped a clasp on her top and her chest came out. She guided his hand to one of her breasts but whatever he felt was dulled by inebriation and his leather gloves.

He couldn't, though. In the end, all she got was a stall door slammed in her face. Or ass, rather. Sitting at the bar, he swallowed a straight shot of Absolut. When he saw her wander out, looking confused and angry, he lowered his head and raised the collar of his leather jacket. And then for added measure, he left.

1 am was when he got home. He was drunk but not drunk enough to crash, so he sauntered to the kitchen and lit the iron range. This needed some music! Bro turned flicked his phone onto the dock and began to tap his foot to the subsequent beat. He cleared his throat, opened a packet of bacon, and the moment they slapped onto the pan, he burst into rap.

He held the spatula as though it were a mic, moving his other hand, pretending to be on a stage, spitting at the other rappers. He brought out some hash potatoes from yesterday's uneaten breakie and began to warm those up next to the bacon.

Mac Miller came on next, and he missed a beat. His little man sure had a hipster taste in rap and yet Bro couldn't help but keep it on his phone. It was a fond sentiment to him. Bro stood there for a bit with a faint smirk, thinking it funny that a good evening could be stopped so suddenly.

Alas, deciding it was ready, he took his phone off and threw it onto the counter top next to his plate. He scooped the leftovers and the bacon on next and sat down.

It was tasty! He ate, tasting pepper and onions on the potatoes and the delicious, fatty grease on the bacon. Then he heard the vibrating. He froze. His phone had ceased whirring by the time he looked at it.

The angle, the alcohol, and his god damned shades made seeing difficult, so he threw his glasses aside and squinted hard. It…wasn't moving now. It didn't make a sound.

It stopped. When he realised that, he lunged at it, doing a full flip over the counter and landing on his feet on the other side of said counter. He turned his phone on and scrolled through to recent calls. There weren't any. He blinked hard - he just saw lights going off on it! Didn't he? He just dropped it where he stood and wandered to his futon. Bro fell onto it, drifting into a cold, hard sleep before his eyes could even consider watering up.

He awoke around 7 am this time. He shifted and stretched. He threw his jacket aside - must've taken it off and used it as a blanket sometime while asleep - and went to shower. He looked down, feeling the grime from last night wash away. He noticed the barest hint of a belly appearing, though it was more of a softening of his abs. But regression was regression and he resolved to add 5 reps to all exercises in his routine.

Amidst the steam and water, his hand moved lower and lower as he closed his eyes…

.

.

It was early this time when he headed out. He didn't resist it in his mildly hung over stupor, walking straight to a certain school. It was the nearest secondary school and his apartment fell into its district. It was stupid, hopeful reasoning in retrospect, but it was something.

He saw that the students were only just arriving. Makes sense, considering how early it was this morning. It was strange, to him, since he found he always woke up early after being intoxicated no matter how late he went to sleep.

He was on the sidewalk opposite the gated premises, glancing here and there at the young kids dressed in uniform; green and blue skirts and ties abound. He lifted his shades to rub at his eyes when he noticed something near the grand front doors of the school.

It was a lean kid, pale blond. His hair was light and feathery. Bro's stomach sank at the sight. A weird reaction, no? It was incredulous and Bro was mentally stumbling over himself. Could this be what the day? The day he found who was missing from him?

"Turn around," He muttered. The kid stayed talking to his buds.

"Turn around." He willed. The kid waved at a girl who joined their group.

"Just turn around!" Bro growled, and that one kid did just that. Bro could feel his hands and feet tingling. The boy looked to the side only briefly, but it was him. Red eyes, soft lips, round jaw, nice eyebrows…

"Dave."


	2. Chapter 2

He spent most of that day in a dream-like state. In fact, when he finally stopped playing the moment over in his head, again and again, he found himself in his apartment. It was 12 noon and yet he went to sleep.

When he opened eyes again, Bro found himself basked in setting sun. He sat up and rubbed his tired eyes...he still felt light and satisfied from this morning. Keeping a flat expression, he would make some supper and head out again.

He gave a faint laugh to himself when he realised how busy he had been lately.

.

.

.

The first year was the hardest. He still had dreams of everything, of fighting and of dying, but they were never so clear as in the first year. And strangely, they weren't really nightmares to him, just a reliving of the moment. He felt neither fear nor adrenaline, just a mild curiousity over what was real - was he actually dead this whole time and living in a memory, or had he really come out of that strangeness?

Those were just dreams though, the difficulty came in the form of the normalcy. He puzzled over what to do with himself for days on end. Wake up, eat, dick around, sleep - that's how it usually went. Everyone had lives but he never felt so disconnected and purposeless.

But the cherry on top was the empty bedroom. In a one bedroom penthouse apartment, he found the bedroom occupied with nothing of his. He couldn't remember who he had lived with, who had occupied his time. Who was this person? Where did they go? The answer lay in his dreams. That vague figure so alike him, to whom he would call out, but who would never respond.

One night he froze in sudden realisation. This whole time, he was calling someone's name but he never heard himself call it.

One night, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, he dreamt of that kid. He felt a longing and an emptiness that night and he wouldn't let him go like he had previously.

"Who are you...?" Bro asked, the kid facing away.

"What are you to me?"

"...Why do I miss you?"

"Answer me!" Bro roared, grabbing the kid's shoulders and turning him around.

"It's me, Dave," Dave answered behind those Ray Bans with a stupid look of confusion. Bro regained his memory and his dreams were less recurrent. And everything made more sense after that.

.

.

.

Bro found himself standing outside the school, 8 am. Nearly all of the kids had entered by now and, well, the bell had already rung, but for the hour he was there, he saw no Dave. He tapped his foot impatiently and was about to go home angry and disappointed when he noticed a trio of students walking down the street. Dave!

They entered through the Eastern gate, the sun shining bright behind them. Bro was lost, but stupidly excited. "Hey, Dave!" He called out from behind the barred fence. The students all stopped their playful chatter and Dave looked his way.

"Dave, that weird bowtie guy is calling out to you," one of his buds said below his breath.

"Do you know him?" the girl asked with a look of mild disgust.

Bro's grip on the bars tightened; I knew I shouldn't have worn a bowtie, he thought. Their comments were little to him, though, and apparently to Dave too. Dave just continued to look at Bro and, for whatever godly reason, pushed up his sunglasses.

Bro's excitement settled and instead he felt a strong yearning to reach out and hold this boy. Dave bore a look of wonder and confusion and hurt. It was the look you would see upon a lover who had thought their partner dead, and found out they were wrong.

Just when Bro thought Dave would greet him, Dave turned back to his friends. "No, I don't know him," he said and they turned and continued walking. Bro yanked off his bowtie and hurried before he could enter a stupor of disbelief.

"No, Dave, it's me, your bro," he hurried along the sidewalk to catch up to where they were. Dave just glanced at him from the side of his eyes, his mouth pressing tight ever slightly. Dave's schoolmates shot Bro amused looks but continued to talk as though he didn't exist.

"Wh..." Bro grunted and swung past the entry gate, stepping onto school property. He stood in their path. "Dave, you don't remember me?"

"You...have the wrong person," Dave blinked, otherwise looking blank. His expression so sentimental only moments ago was long gone.

"You don't?" Bro felt breathless.

"Should I...?" Dave retorted in a tone with more edge than Bro expected. It hurt, and he didn't care to hide or deny it. The second bell rang. "Gotta fly," Dave said, turning to walk around the six foot two weirdo.

"Dave, wait," Bro grabbed his shoulder and immediately, Dave's friends descended.

"Hey back off, pedophile," said the boy, grabbing Bro's wrist to remove it.

"Yeah, trespassing and harrassment are crimes," said the girl, pulling out her cell phone. Bro was starting to get angry, but it didn't come to that.

"Hey guys, c'mon, leave him alone," Bro looked back to Dave, and Dave was already walking off. His friends soon obeyed and joined him. Bro watched him leave, open the door, and hold it open.

"Dave, don't you...I used to call you little man, and you always said you hated it, but I knew you didn't," Bro took a step forward in what may have been desperation.

But...Dave only looked at him one more time when his friends had entered the school and it was just the two of them left outside. For those short seconds, Dave looked sympathetic as he gave a small wave, and then like that, was gone.

.

.

.

Bro milled about town after that. He sat in a park for awhile, watching the waters, then rode the subway for a bit only to walk back in the direction he came - aimless activities. He didn't know what to think and yet, despite the coldness, that sad wave filled him with resolution.

He walked passed various food chains and establishments when he stopped to look up. He saw the big sign of Dave's favourite, and that's where an idea took root.

Dave remembered. He had to. Bro would bring those memories back.

He returned to his apartment and picked up the phone. He called Denny's and reserved a table for 3:30 that afternoon. The woman who answered didn't see the point in making a reservation, but far be it from her to question him.

Bro hung up and had a sense of hope again, a sense of excitement and purpose. He stood there, staring at particularly nothing. He placed his hand over his heart and felt his heartbeat.

For the longest time, his heart used to feel heavy and tired...but now, it didn't.


End file.
